Safe Places
by LittleFairy78
Summary: Safe places don't exist. Nowhere, not in the entire world. Nobody knows that better than Dean Winchester. But at times, it really doesn't matter. Companion piece to "Safe Place".


This is a companion piece to my story "Safe Place", but you don't necessarily need to have read that to understand this one. However, they essentially belong together since they tell two sides of the same story.

The first one was inspired by a post in a discussion forum, and this one was inspired by a review. **Sylia91** simply had to ask for Dean's side of the story, and this is what happens when you set a plot bunny loose on me. She inspired this, so this one's for her.

It's a bit more metaphoric than Safe Place was, but I hope you like it.

Enjoy!

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**Safe Places**

There was no safe place. They didn't exist.

Truth could be an ugly son of a bitch, but the only way to stay alive in this hell-hole of a world was to face up to it before ignorance got you killed.

The world wasn't safe. Nowhere. Period.

There was evil lurking everywhere, and walls and doors couldn't stop it. It was as simple as that. Evil could get to you anywhere, at any time, and believing that despite that there was still a safe place anywhere was ignorant, blind and stupid.

Dean Winchester was neither of that.

He faced up to the truth that there was no single safe place in the entire world. He lived his life on that principle. The fact that he was still alive after so many years of hunting should be proof enough that it wasn't the worst philosophy to live by.

Of course that had been different once. A long time, nearly a lifetime, ago. Back when Dean's trust in safety and protection had still been abstract, primal and instinctive and not a conscious thought. It hadn't ever been a thing he needed to consider. It was something every child believed in instinctively – their home was a safe place. A place where their family was safe, where they were safe.

Dean had believed it, too.

Until he had stood outside in the cold of the night, wet grass underneath his bare feet and his baby brother clutched tightly in his arms, watching as the flames devoured his mother, his safe place, and his childhood.

In hindsight, that moment had set the course of his life. Evil had touched them that night, and he had come out of it with his life torn apart, but with the knowledge that he could only survive in this world if he accepted that there was no safe place. Constant vigilance, invariable mistrust was the only way to survive. Even more importantly, it was the only way to protect those he had left.

Dean's life had held preciously few constants after that one fateful night, but those constants he cherished with everything he had.

The Impala, the closest thing he ever had to a home again.

His father, the one man who had fought even harder than Dean himself to keep them all safe. The one man who always seemed to know the right answer, the right thing to do, the last minute way out of every situation, no matter how desperate.

His brother. The one person Dean had fought so hard to protect from the harsh realities of life. Dean might have lost his beliefs and his trust in safety at the age of four, but that didn't mean he was going to subject his brother to the same fate. And if it was the last thing he did, Dean was going to make sure that Sam had everything Dean didn't have – a childhood, and the feeling that he was safe.

Because for as long as Sam felt safe, for as long as their father was around to hold them together, Dean could at least pretend that he was safe, too. That they were safe.

That had been Dean's safe place. Not a physical place, never that. Not after the fire. But the knowledge that their family was together, that their father was there to watch over them, relieving Dean of the burdens that were beyond his age. The knowledge that Sam was safe, that he didn't know of the things that lurked in the dark. The knowledge that Sam felt safe, and as normal as he could. As normal as Dean had never felt.

He should have known better. He should have known that the moment he started to believe something, started to need something around to survive, the world was going to chew it up and spit it back in his face.

Because his world had crumbled around him. The feeling of safety Dean had allowed himself to have in the circle of his family gone within a heartbeat.

Sam had left for Stanford. No hesitation, no consideration. He had simply up and left Dean alone. Dean had devoted his whole life to Sam, and the first chance he got Sam turned around and left him behind, never once questioning if Dean's carefully constructed idea of a safe haven fell apart along with that.

Then their father had left him, too. From one moment to the next, John had vanished. No explanation, nothing. One moment he had been working that gig in Jericho, the next he had been gone.

And Dean had been left behind, once more robbed of every feeling of safety he had ever allowed himself to feel.

No, safe places didn't exist. Not in the real world, and neither in your head or your heart. They just didn't. You could save yourself a whole lot of pain if you only got the message.

Everything Dean had ever associated with safety, with the feeling of being protected and secure, it was all perishable. It had all perished.

The Impala. His only home after the fire. All it had taken had been one pissed off demon and a semi, and the car had been gone. Perishable.

Dad. Gone, once and for all. His father had sacrificed his life and soul, just so that Dean could live. A looming figure during his childhood, larger than life and all-knowing, he had become smaller and smaller over the years. Fallible. Mortal. A fallen hero, but heroic one last time when he gave his life so his son could live. And gone beyond redemption when he left that son with the legacy of killing his brother if the worst came true.

His death had left a hole inside of Dean that could never be filled again. And the feeling of safety, if he had ever truly felt it, had resided in that place where the hole now was.

Sam. Killed right in front of Dean's eyes. Sam had died because Dean had been unable to fulfill the one task in his life. Because Dean hadn't watched out for his little brother. His whole life he had done, but then Sam had left for college, and he had come back different. No longer little Sammy, the brother who had always looked up to him as if Dean could do no wrong in the world. Sam had been more defensive, more ready to fight. More ready to fight _Dean_, especially after their father's death.

And then Dean hadn't watched out for Sam for one moment, and his brother had died.

That death had left a hole in Dean's soul, one he had not been able to live with. One so big that he rather sold his whole soul to the devil instead of living with that Sam-shaped hole inside of him.

Everything he ever loved, everything he ever cared for, it all had died or gone at one point. How could he still believe that there was a single safe place in this world, a place where none of that mattered because it couldn't touch him?

It was impossible.

Even now, with his world seemingly spinning back on its axis, Dean was acutely aware of the fact that there was no safe place in the world. Sam was back with him, and to Dean the price hadn't been too high. No price would have been too high for getting Sam back. But Sam being alive was no guarantee for anything.

All it had taken was a pissed off poltergeist that just didn't want to die. Dean had felt his heart lurch in his chest when the thing had thrown Sam across the room, knocking his head against the wall with a sickening thud. And then the beast had dropped that huge dresser on Sam's leg as an added bonus.

If the thing hadn't been on top of Dean's _To Kill_-list simply for being a poltergeist anyway, that would have itright there. Nobody did that to his brother and walked away breathing. Or, in case of a poltergeist, not breathing. Whatever. The thing had to die, it was as easy as that. Because it was a poltergeist, because it had dared to hurt Sam, and because if it continued to exist, sooner or later it was going to tear apart somebody else's illusion about their safety in this crap hole of a world.

And it had died. Far too quickly for Dean's liking. But it was dead now. Another evil vanished, another small drop in the ocean. But it was all he could do, knowing what he did about the world.

But of course luck was no lady tonight. Or if she was, she was a lady who wasn't attracted to the Winchesters. Which meant luck couldn't be a lady. Whatever. It was just their usual luck that the light snowfall that had come down earlier had turned into a full blown snow storm while they had been busy trying to banish Casper into the great beyond.

Which meant that they were stuck here, in an old farmhouse in the middle of frigging nowhere. Just because the building had been recently sold, because a holiday resort was going to be built here soon, because two surveyors had met nasty accidents doing their work and the Winchesters couldn't say no if something supernatural reared its ugly head at them.

They were stuck for the night, or until the storm let up. Whichever happened first. Dean only hoped that they'd get out here sooner rather than later. Sam's injuries weren't life-threatening, but he definitely had a concussion, and while his knee didn't seem broken, that little stunt with the dresser had definitely pulled and twisted something that really hurt and made the knee swell up like a balloon. Dean had made a makeshift bandage to stabilize it, but it was obvious that Sam was in pain, and that he wasn't going to walk out of here under his own power anytime soon.

Which was just frigging great.

Life-threatening or not, Sam was hurt. And he was hurt beyond Dean's means to take care of him. Dean didn't have the supplies to take care of the leg wound, and it was too dark to properly watch out for the symptoms of Sam's concussion. Thanks to Casper, Dean's flashlight had left a nice indentation in the wall and would never again shine light on anything.

Probably, the feeling that he couldn't properly take care of Sam was the only reason why Dean had allowed this whole _head on his shoulder_ thing to happen. Sam had always had a big cuddly streak, but it was a habit Dean thought he had weaned his brother from by the time his age had hit the two digit numbers. But Dean knew his brother.

He knew Sam better than anybody else in this world, and he also knew that while their life had hardened both of them beyond their age, there was one thing Sam had never let go of. And that was the belief that Dean always knew what to do, that Dean could always make things all right.

It was the same primal and instinctive trust that Dean had lost at too young an age, and because Dean wanted Sam to keep the illusion of safety he had been denied himself, he had nurtured that belief in his brother. At times, back when he had been younger, Dean had even reveled in the idea that his brother thought of him as some kind of superhero.

But really, Sam was grown up by now. Time to take off the rose-tinted glasses. Dean was just as fallible as the next guy, maybe even more so. Sam had to see that he was no hero, and not the protector that Sam thought him to be.

But Sam practically radiated that trust in him. Whatever shit they had gotten themselves into this time, he always trusted Dean to find a way out of it. After their father's death, Dean had been barely holding it together at times. He had been tail spinning, had been absolutely clueless as to how they were supposed to go on. But still Sam had trusted him. Still Sam had shown nothing but faith in the fact that Dean was going to step up and take their father's place in watching over them, making sure that they were safe.

It was always there, an unconscious and unspoken thing. Something Dean could ignore when the thought of the responsibility weighed too heavy for him to bear. But not always.

There were situations when Sam didn't allow him to forget. Situations like this, when Sam was banged up and hurt. Those were the times when Sam regressed to being _Sammy_, looking for reassurance and that absolute feeling of safety Dean had been able to give him when they had been younger.

Dean had never been able to deny Sam much, and he'd certainly never deny him the feeling of safety, even if it was momentary, and somewhat of an illusion. He just couldn't. Not if it was done by something so simple as allowing Sam to lean on him.

Besides, it wasn't as if they were hugging or anything. Sam was leaning against him because if he didn't, he'd end up kissing the floor. It was as easy as that. Dean's arm around Sam's shoulder was only there to make sure that Sam stayed upright. Nothing else.

It so wasn't hugging.

They hadn't talked much after the poltergeist had been dealt with and Dean had looked at Sam's injuries. Sam was awake, that much Dean knew. He wasn't going to let his brother fall asleep with a concussion. But if they already had to spend the night in this dusty old and frigging cold farmhouse, there really was no need to spend it chatting uselessly. Right now there was nothing to talk about. And they could both do with saving their energy.

Dean checked on Sam occasionally, turning his head a fraction to make sure that Sam's eyes were still open. It was a small sound of distress coming from his brother a few minutes after his last checkup that tore Dean out of his reverie. When he turned his head, Sam's face was pulled into a pained grimace. Probably a small movement had pulled at his injured leg, or the marching band in Sam's head had upped the volume a bit. Dean suppressed a sigh. He hated seeing Sam like this, especially when there was nothing he could do to make it better.

"It's okay. We'll be out of here as soon as that storm lets up, get a real bandage on your leg. Once I dig the car out of the frigging snow, that is."

And wasn't that going to be fun, Dean could already tell. Not to mention that Sam wasn't going to walk with his leg, much less through inches of freshly fallen snow. Suddenly, staying here for a bit longer was winning appeal.

Dean felt his brother nod his head against his shoulder, and judged by the groan that escaped Sam's lips, that movement hadn't been such a great idea. Dean wasn't too worried about Sam revisiting his earlier lunch, though he could live without his brother's vomit all over him. But he didn't want Sam to pass out.

He tightened his arm around Sam's shoulders.

"Hey! Don't fall asleep on me here, concussion-boy."

"'kay."

The answer was mumbled, muffled against Dean's shirt, and for some reason it sounded like Sam was smiling. But whatever. It sounded alert, not as if Sam was about to drop unconscious any second now. That was all Dean could ask for.

"Good. Because I'll not drag your unconscious and comatose body to the car. Not in this snow."

He had always been good at masking worry with humor. Sam knew that. Sam knew him well enough to take that for what it was – an admission of worry, and the plea for Sam to stay conscious.

This time, Dean didn't get a verbal answer, but he felt Sam move his head slightly, burrowing further into his brother's shoulder. It would have definitely crossed the border to cuddling on any other occasion, but with the concussion and the other injuries, Dean was willing to make an exception. Just for once.

The poltergeist was dead, and for tonight they were safe. Banged up, cold and uncomfortable maybe, but that was what life was like at times if you were a Winchester. But they had beaten at least one evil son of a bitch this night, and had come out of it alive.

Judged by the way Sam was going slack against him, relaxed but still conscious, Sam was feeling safe.

And that was the main thing.

After the fire, that had been the only thing that could ever make Dean feel safe again – the knowledge that at least for a night, for a few precious hours, nothing bad was going to happen. That his family was together, and nothing was going to hurt them. It was the only time when he could allow himself to feel safe.

There might not be a single safe place in the entire world. But that didn't matter. Not always. For Dean, his life had never been about places. It had always been about the people. About his family. About Sam.

So if Sam was feeling safe, Dean guessed he could allow himself that luxury as well.

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**The End**

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Thanks for reading. As always, please let me know what you think. Thanks a lot.


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